“You looked as though you were still dancing on the waves,” Yemeya said as they drew closer.
Tiyana raked a hand through her short hair, which had been cropped close to her scalp to accommodate the Mask of Nama-kwah. Now, she would allow her hair to grow until the time for First Calling came again.
“Maybe I was,” she said. “And, I hope, more successfully.”
They all shared a chuckle at that bit of self-deprecation.
“Well, Tiyana, no one in Khambawe should be happier than you that the Fidi ship came here today,” Keshu boomed as he sat beside her on the bench. With easy familiarity, Yemeya sat by Tiyana’s other side, bracketing her, but not close enough to crowd her.
“Why do you say that?” Tiyana asked.
“You couldn’t have asked for a better excuse to explain away the mess you made of your Calling.”
Tiyana stared at him speechlessly and open-mouthed for a moment. Then she began to laugh. Keshu and Yemeya joined her, and they rocked and hugged each other until the mirth finally let them go. They would savor this moment of levity while they could. Only in the courtyard of their House were the Amiyas and others, such as the Callers, able to allow such a break from the disciplines to which they had dedicated themselves since childhood.
“Can you imagine how it would have been if that ship had come during one of my Callings?” Keshu said when he could speak again.
That started a fresh wave of laughter, for the Calling of Halasha involved the handling of fire and molten metal in an extremely dangerous manner. When the mirth subsided once again, Yemeya asked a serious question.
“Tiyana – what happened out there?”
Tiyana did not answer immediately. Keshu and Yemeya were her best friends, and ordinarily she would never have hesitated to confide in them. This time, however, she sensed that she could share Nama-kwah’s cryptic warning with only one other – her father.
“That is for the Goddess to say, not I,” she finally told her friends.
Yemeya and Keshu both nodded their understanding. Then they each clasped one of Tiyana’s hands. Keshu carefully concealed his emotions as he felt Tiyana’s hand in his, for his feelings toward her extended far beyond friendship. And he could not let her know of those emotions.
Not now – not ever.
As the Amiyas and the Caller sat silently gazing into the pool, the angle of the sun’s rays turned the water blood-red. If that change of color was a portent, it went unnoticed.
3
As night’s darkness settled over Khambawe, and the Moon Stars illuminated the sky, Jass Gebrem continued his healing of the white-haired Fidi. Soldiers had carried the unconscious man into a cabin below the deck of the ship. A probe by his ashuma told him the cabin belonged to the Fidi. After the man had been placed on a bed, Gebrem ordered the soldiers out, indicating that he was not to be disturbed.
Sitting on a chair of a design unlike that of anything made in the Matile lands, Gebrem used his ashuma to examine the Fidi. The abi served as his focal point as he probed. He found neither illness nor injury as his arcane senses delved beneath the stranger’s robe, and beneath his skin. Despite the whiteness of the Fidi’s hair and the lines that time and troubles had cut into his face, Gebrem quickly realized that the foreigner’s vitality was more than a match for that of a much younger man.
But that vigor, uncommon though it was, had been depleted to its limit – or, perhaps, beyond. The toll exacted by the sorcery the man had exerted to convey his ship through the Sea of Storms had left him sorely debilitated; he was close to death despite the magic that imbued him.
Gebrem realized that the stranger needed a regeneration of his source of magical strength more urgently than any relief that could be provided for his body. Until that source was replenished, food, water and physical healing would be of secondary importance.
As he concentrated on the Fidi’s innermost essence, Gebrem could sense that the man had already begun a process of self-healing. Without external assistance, however, the course of his recovery would last many days, perhaps even weeks, with a strong possibility of failure. Gebrem’s ashuma could accelerate the speed and intensity of the stranger’s healing, and enhance the likelihood of success.
Closing his eyes and grasping the abi in both hands, Gebrem visualized the Fidi’s essence as a candle-flame wavering weakly in the darkness of a night in which the Moon Stars were obscured by thick clouds. As he concentrated the power of his ashuma, the flame began to grow brighter and stronger, driving the darkness away. Gebrem quickly realized that the Fidi’s own strength was increasing, adding further fuel to the internal blaze.
Suddenly the stranger’s volition roused, and Gebrem felt as though he were astride a runaway quagga, with the reins flying out of his reach. The candle-flame he envisioned grew blindingly bright, like a new sun invading a midnight sky. The sheer power of the burst was alarming. But Gebrem refused to break the contact, however dangerous it might be. He could feel the Fidi reaching out to him, just as he had during their first encounter on the deck of the strangers’ battered ship ...
A soft knock sounded at the door of the cabin, breaking Gebrem’s concentration. His eyes flew open, and the abi nearly fell from his hands. Angrily, the Leba rose and pulled the door open. Jass Eshana was there, unperturbed by the anger in Gebrem’s eyes.
“Do my words mean nothing to you?” Gebrem raged. “I explicitly said I was not to be disturbed.”
“Your explicit words mean a great deal, Leba,” the Dejezmek returned calmly. “But not
